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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566209">The Cage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/amooniesong/pseuds/amooniesong'>amooniesong</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Men Crying, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post MCC 12, dream centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:06:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/amooniesong/pseuds/amooniesong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream didn’t have a great track record when it came to Sands of Time. After the iron doors incident had turned into a meme, he hadn’t expected things to get worse.</p>
<p>Somehow, looking George in the eye as the only person in the cage was so much worse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>218</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Cage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dream didn’t have a great track record when it came to Sands of Time. After the </span>
  <em>
    <span>iron doors </span>
  </em>
  <span>incident had turned into a meme, he hadn’t expected things to get worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, looking George in the eye as the only person in the cage was so much worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George wasn’t alone in looking at him - dozens of people swarmed the cage as if he were an animal in a zoo, something to laugh at and ridicule, something </span>
  <em>
    <span>less </span>
  </em>
  <span>than them - but George’s eyes were the ones he felt burning him. He felt shame washing over him, loathing and hatred and disappointment in himself rising slowly until he couldn’t even hold his head up. It wasn’t the weight of the crown from the victory that came months ago, it was the humiliation of being the only person not to make it out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was Dream - someone who was viewed as one of the greatest Minecraft players in the world - and he was defeated by the same minigame time and time again. He knew it was his hubris that cost him, and that he failed because he thought he could push just a little further… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>push himself further. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>as good as he thought he was. His team were counting on him and he let them down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dodgebolt passed in a blur. George’s team won, and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so proud </span>
  </em>
  <span>of George for winning, but he couldn’t stand to hang around much longer. He ended his stream, he logged out of Teamspeak and turned his Discord status to invisible, muting his notifications before he moved to collapse into his bed. It was only 6pm, and thanks to his messed up sleep schedule he’d barely been awake for 5 hours, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t think about his rumbling stomach or dry mouth, or the fact that he was a little too warm in his hoodie and sweatpants: he just let himself drift off to sleep on top of his sheets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At this point, Dream was no stranger to the nightmares that followed MCC. In fact, he would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>worried if he didn’t find himself waking up in a sweat and panic. Normally, he would realise fairly quickly after waking up that he was safe, but today he didn’t have that luxury. Night had fallen, his bedroom was completely dark, and Dream felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>small.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He felt as if he was still inside that damned cage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was then that he realised he couldn’t breathe, that his chest felt tight and his throat constricted. He felt hot tears spilling over his cheeks, and his hands shook as he tried to find </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>to help ground himself. A cough eventually passed his lips, forcing air from his lungs and leaving him gasping to replace it. He was panicking - </span>
  <em>
    <span>unsurprisingly</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and so he tried to calm himself down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What five things could he see around him?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The darkness, that was one. He could see the outline of his streaming setup silhouetted against the wall was another. He could see his own hands - three things - and he could see a thin light shining beneath the bottom of his door, that made four.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If only he hadn’t seen his blinds next.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The vertical strips of fabric felt like bars, and in a moment of dread his stomach sunk. Was he still trapped? Caged away? Hidden from the world because he was so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>less? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Had his failures amounted to such a great number that even society wished to turn its back on him? Would his friends still be his friends - still make videos with him - if he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>good? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still panicking, he managed to remember the next step: four things he could touch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sheets of his bed were beneath him, soft and comforting (not like the hard, cold stone he imagined the cage would be lined with). Secondly, he could feel his clothes against his skin: the lining of his hoodie was warm, his sweatpants had sagged a little lower on his hips. If he swiveled his body a little he could feel carpet beneath his feet, that made three.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fourth, he could still feel George’s eyes looking at him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a game, it was virtual, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>real, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but George’s character had stared at him from the moment he appeared in the cage until the moment the Hub loaded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His breathing was becoming less laboured, his chest hurting a little less, but the tears still came thick and fast and so he continued.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Three things he could hear. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Outside, he could hear the traffic. It was night now, but that didn’t mean that Orlando was any quieter - the sirens of ambulances still howled, cars still drove by, people still talked and shouted. Inside, he could hear clawing at his door (Patches, he presumed) and the hum of his computer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now came two things he could smell. That was a little harder, but he still managed to locate two things: his own sweat (he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to shower) and the takeout across the road.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, one thing he could taste. His stomach ached at the mere thought of tasting something - going to bed hungry was </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>a good idea - and so he pushed himself to his feet, feeling much more stable than before as he made his way through his apartment to search for some food. When he pushed open his door to leave his room Patches darted between his feet and trailed behind him, nearly tripping him up on several occasions. She wasn’t trying to be a hazard, rather she could sense his distress and was trying to provide him with a little comfort. It was something he was grateful for, especially when he reached his kitchen and pulled open the door to his fridge…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>... Only for his eyes to find the tomato juice first.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As quickly as he’d managed to emerge, he was back in the cage. George wasn’t looking at him this time - instead standing with his back to him - and Dream felt a sob tearing from his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Patches remained by him for a moment, but as the image didn’t leave his mind no matter how many times he opened and closed his eyes he brought his hand into a fist and punched the ground, sending her running. Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Patches </span>
  </em>
  <span>was leaving him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He barely felt the pain in his hand for the first few minutes: his panic still too intense to register anything other than fear. He was being abandoned, left by everyone he loved, and who was he to stop them from leaving? Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>they leave him?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he’d stopped crying, his hand was beginning to bruise. A quick wiggle of his fingers confirmed that nothing was broken, but his knuckles ached and he didn’t particularly want to risk injuring himself further - the prospect of having to explain all the events that led to this to a nurse only bringing more shame to the forefront of his mind - so he grabbed a bag of frozen peas to try and provide some relief.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Forgetting about his rumbling stomach, Dream returned to his bedroom and logged onto his computer. Twitch was still open, and after having fallen asleep for several hours immediately after the games no one was streaming. At least, Sapnap and George weren’t streaming anymore. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He logged onto Twitter and posted a congratulatory tweet for George, before immediately logging back out: he daren’t check his notifications or the trends now. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>did, </span>
  </em>
  <span>however, check Discord. He was still showing up as invisible, and so he felt as though he could check through the more important notifications without being disturbed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>More important </span>
  </em>
  <span>notifications just meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>messages from George and Sapnap.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap had sent a handful - asking if he’d had fun, then (after he didn’t respond) if he was okay, and finally offering to call if he needed it. George, likely still running on the high of his second victory, had sent an awful lot more. Some were incoherent nonsense - likely the first keyboard smashes he’d made when he’d ended his calls and streams and needed a way to get energy out of his system - but they had slowly become more cogent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the fact that he was still set to invisible, George was still sending messages. Dream decided he could reply to a few, maybe explain that he needed some time to himself, except George’s last message had his breath hitching in his throat again and his heart breaking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>George: I’m worried :(</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dream: Worried?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
    <span>George: DREAM!<br/></span>
  
  <em>
    <span>George: You disappeared </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>George: You okay?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dream: Always</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>George: Call?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, how was he supposed to say no to George?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He placed his headphones over his ears, taking in one last shaky breath to prepare himself before the familiar chimes of an incoming Discord call rang out. Dream let it ring four times before he clicked to accept.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dream!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi George.” Dream swallowed. Was his voice too strained? Did it </span>
  <em>
    <span>sound </span>
  </em>
  <span>like he’d been struggling to breathe, like he’d been crying? How did he normally sound - did he even normally say </span>
  <em>
    <span>hi George, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or was that just the most ordinary thing he could muster up in the moment?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dream, are you there?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What, sorry?” He blinked. “Yeah, I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This was it: he could either tell George the truth of it all, or he could send himself further down the rabbit hole.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Rabbit hole it was.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you, back to back wins, we’re gonna have to rename it the </span>
  <em>
    <span>George Team </span>
  </em>
  <span>if you keep this up.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he laughed, George did too. He found some kind of solace in the fact that he’d managed to trick the man into believing that everything was okay, but maybe that trick was the only reason George was still talking to him. Maybe if he’d told him the truth about how awful he felt - about the nightmares, the insecurities, the shame and the loathing - he’d have turned his back on him. Maybe he’d have been right back in that cage again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t about to find out.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>apparently speedrunning fics after mcc is my new favourite thing to do! hope you enjoyed this little angsty story - comments &amp; kudos are always appreciated. also, if you'd like to see more of me, follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/amooniesong">twitter</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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